"Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities."
― Rebecca Yarros
Christian Allister
"Where the fuck is Hadley? She should already be leading the forensics investigation by now," I snap, looking over at Elise. The night air is thick with tension, the flashing lights from police cars casting an eerie glow over the crime scene.
"I've called her several times. She just sent a text saying she's on her way," Elise replies, her voice strained with worry. The usual composure she maintains is fraying at the edges.
I run a weary hand through my hair as they finally get the poor woman's body pulled back inside. The sight of her lifeless form, marred by his twisted message, fuels my rage.
That bastard is here.
He's taunting me.
He's calling me out.
